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SONG OF SANDSTORM



  • .
    .
    let our mouth spill out
    let our voices keep not shut
    let our hands cleave to the strings
    and plunck the tune of sandstorm.
    .
    eerisome winds choked us,
    we quiver at it spiritual torrent,
    our farmlands became barren,
    a result from it unending strike.
    .
    we reside in the phobia of sandstorm,
    like Jerry afraid of the bully; Tom,
    our anxiety decends like drizzling rain,
    yet our farmlands die of drought.
    .
    dearth came visiting our land,
    our stomach in pain, grumbles loud
    we are a vegetable garden,
    whose fate is determined by the rumbling cloud.
    .
    When will our land be fertile?
    So we could plant on a rich soil
    Till the earth to our best,
    And come out with a great harvest.
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  • Oyin Young: Wednesday, 29 March 2017 at 23:27:00
  • Label(s): Kingsley Godstime , Poems
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